


Here's to all the new beginnings

by Gruoch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Daily Bugle, F/M, Gen, Growing Pains, Parent-Child Relationship, Peter is in college, Post-Avengers 4, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Tony spends too much time on social media, and THRIVING, but also is a human disaster, humor with a sprinkle of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 21:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16167185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gruoch/pseuds/Gruoch
Summary: “No, no—Pep, look at the caption,” Tony presses, practically shoving the tablet into her face. “Look who took the picture.”Pepper sighs again. She reads the caption. A faint frown line appears between her brows. “Oh.”“That says Peter Parker, right?” Tony grinds out. “I’m not imagining that?”“You are not imagining it.” Pepper starts to smile. “It’s a little funny, honestly.”“Funny? This is not funny. This is…this ismasochistic.”___________Or, Peter gets a job. Tony is less than pleased.





	Here's to all the new beginnings

“What the _hell_ is this?”

“What?” Pepper asks, pouring herself another cup of coffee.

“This.” Tony spins around the StarkPad in front of him and slides it across the table towards her. 

Pepper clicks over in her heels and looks down at the screen, sipping her coffee. “A picture of Spider-Man. Okay?”

“On the Daily Bugle’s page,” Tony practically spits out. 

Pepper sighs, exasperated. “Tony, I don’t know why you always read through their garbage if it bothers you so much. Yes, they write terrible things about Spider-Man. They write terrible things about everyone. It’s a tabloid. That’s what they do.”

“No, no—Pep, look at the caption,” Tony presses, practically shoving the tablet into her face. “Look who took the picture.”

Pepper sighs again. She reads the caption. A faint frown line appears between her brows. “Oh.”

“That says Peter Parker, right?” Tony grinds out. “I’m not imagining that?”

“You are not imagining it.” Pepper starts to smile. “It’s a little funny, honestly.”

“Funny? This is not funny. This is…this is _masochistic_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I am not being ridiculous,” Tony protests. “I’m trying to figure out why he would take pictures of himself for a shitty rag that constantly smears him.”

“I don’t know, he probably thought it was funny, too,” Pepper says reasonably. “It seems right in line with his sense of humor. Or maybe one of his friends put him up to it. Who knows?” She takes in the sour look on Tony’s face. “Honey, it’s one picture. Relax. Stop stalking Peter on social media and let him enjoy college.”

“I am not stalking him,” Tony says. “I just like to check in on him from time to time, and this is the easiest way to do it.”

“Sure, hon,” Pepper says, bending low to kiss him. “I gotta run. Get off Instagram or whatever and take Morgan to the park today. The weather is supposed to be nice.”

 

____________________

 

It’s not one picture.

It becomes a weekly occurrence. Then daily. All splashed boldly along the Bugle’s social media pages, emblazoned with headlines gleefully decrying New York City’s most infamous menace. All taken by _Peter Parker, Contributing Photographer_. Tony develops an annoying twitch in his left eye that appears every time he reads through it all.

“You interested in being the controlling shareholder of a media conglomerate?” he asks Pepper one morning while she gets dressed for work and he does a puzzle on the floor with Morgan. He’s just read a particularly salacious and unnervingly detailed article about Spider-Man and that obnoxious, vapid moron Johnny Storm that had him clutching his chest in horror. The picture that accompanied the article—Spider-Man in a cheeky, looking-over-the-shoulder pose, contributed by one Peter Parker—had nearly put Tony in the ground.

Pepper doesn’t dignify him with an answer. 

“I just don’t understand it,” Tony says to her a couple of weeks later, after they’ve gone to bed. “Why is he wasting his time with this? If he wanted to make money he could have come to me and I would have hooked him up with a paid internship in a heartbeat. Something in our R&D department doing actual stuff related to his major.”

“Maybe he enjoys it,” Pepper suggests. “He’s very creative. He’s allowed to have other interests, right?

“Of course,” Tony says.

“Okay, so stop obsessing about it.”

“I’m not obsessing,” Tony scoffs. “I’m _not_ ,” he says more adamantly when Pepper rolls over to give him a wry, disbelieving look.

The pictures are...good, Tony will grudgingly admit. The kid has an eye for composition and for capturing the thrill that must come with swinging around skyscrapers. There’s obviously skill and talent there, for what is basically an extremely elaborate selfie. Skill and talent Peter is choosing to waste on a garbage tabloid. Tony can’t understand it, but he tries to tolerate it because the kid is absolutely free to live his life. Within certain parameters, obviously.

Then it happens. Tony opens one of his many social media apps one morning while feeding Morgan breakfast and sees another impressive shot of Spider-Man swinging through the city under another awful, libelous headline, only this time instead of _Peter Parker, Contributing Photographer_ , the picture is tagged with _Peter Parker, Staff Photographer_.

And that’s the last damn straw, because now it’s not just a weird little freelance thing the kid has going on, or one of his bizarre running jokes that Tony just doesn’t get—it’s an honest to god _job_. Tony has no choice but to intervene.

He closes the app and texts Peter. _Let’s do dinner tonight._

He texts a place and a time before Peter can respond, because he’s not going to take no for an answer. But the kid sends back a thumbs up emoji a few minutes later, confirming everything.

Tony tosses the tablet aside. “Spidey’s in big trouble, oh-no, oh-no,” he sings to Morgan while she squeals in delight and sprays half-eaten cereal all over the floor. “But papa’s gonna make it right. Right?”

“Yeh-yeh-yeh,” Morgan agrees, clapping her sticky hands.

Tony leans forward and holds her round little face in his hands, staring intensely into her eyes. “You’re not gonna break papa’s heart the way Petey-pie does, right honeybear?”

“Yeh-yeh-yeh,” Morgan says, attempting to shove her spoon into Tony’s mouth.

“Ah, god help me,” Tony mutters. Somehow this tiny creature with her soft little body and barely coherent words terrifies him more than any of the bloodthirsty aliens or warmongering terrorists he’s faced ever did.

_____________________

 

Tony’s been sitting at a table in the restaurant for fifteen minutes when he gets another text message from Peter.

_Order for me. Running late. Sorry._ Followed by an enormous block of heart emojis and smileys blowing kisses. 

Tony rolls his eyes but isn’t at all surprised. The kid is a little walking disaster and has never been on time to anything in his entire life. It’s another twenty minutes before Peter finally arrives, but that’s alright because it’s given Tony some time to plan his attack.

“Hey, Mr. Stark, sorry I’m late,” Peter says a little breathlessly, hanging his backpack up over the back of the chair. “I’ll be right back.”

“You just got here. Where are you going now?” Tony asks.

“Bathroom. I haven’t peed in like eight hours and I’m seriously about to die.”

“Why?” Tony asks, disgruntled. “What was stopping you?”

“Crime doesn’t take bathroom breaks, so sometimes neither do I,” Peter says, before heading off to the restroom at a near run.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Tony scolds him when he gets back some minutes later. “You’re going to irreparably damage your kidneys doing shit like that. Please take care of yourself, Peter, for god’s sake.”

“Yes, mother,” Peter says. “What am I having?”

“Gâteau de Crabe Tourteau.”

Peter stares blankly. “I have no idea what that is. I don’t know why I thought I would.”

“You’ll like it,” Tony assures him. He unfolds and refolds his napkin, just to give his hands something to do. “So. What have you been up to, besides courting urinary tract infections? I feel like I haven’t seen you face to face in ages.”

Peter shrugs. “The usual. I’ve been super busy. It’s the end of the semester, so you know how it is.”

“Got a lot on your plate, huh,” Tony says, watching Peter closely. 

Peter shrugs again, oblivious to the scrutiny. “Yeah, but I’m managing it. How’s Morgan?”

“Oh, you know, chubby and charming,” Tony says. “Well, slightly less charming currently. She’s getting some molars in and she’s taking it out on everyone around her.”

“Aww,” Peter coos. “My poor baby. I’ll come by and cheer her up.”

“You come any time you want, kid. Pepper’s been missing you.”

“I have my final exams in two weeks, so maybe I’ll visit after I finish,” Peter says. “Stay a few days.”

“Sure,” Tony says. “Are you ready for your exams?”

Peter grimaces. “I will be.”

“I thought you said you were managing everything,” Tony says, as the waiter arrives with their dinner.

“I _am_ managing everything,” Peter says, peering suspiciously at the food set down in front of him before relaxing. “Oh, it’s a crab cake. You could have just said that.”

“I said you’d like it. Don’t you trust me?” Tony replies. He clears his throat as he reaches for his fork. “You know, your education is the most important thing. May and I have talked to you about that before. School always comes first.”

“Oh, god,” Peter groans around a mouthful of crab cake. “I know. We don’t need to have this conversation again.”

“I just think,” Tony presses on, “that maybe between school and…your other thing, you already have a lot going on.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says, shoveling food into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in eight hours, either. He probably hasn’t, Tony realizes in total exasperated despair. His need to fix everything feels even more urgent now.

“So maybe you don’t need your little photography job, too,” Tony finishes.

Peter looks at him, a forkful of crab dangling halfway between his plate and his mouth. “How do you know about that? Did May tell you?”

“No. It’s all over the internet,” Tony says, his eyes narrowing. “Wait, does May approve of this?”

“I mean, she’s not a fan of the Bugle or anything but she thinks it’s good for me to have a job.”

“Well,” Tony says. “I gotta disagree.”

“Okay, see, this is why I didn’t tell you,” Peter says, waving his fork around in frustration. “Because I knew you’d be all weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird about it,” Tony replies. “I don’t want you stressing yourself out trying to juggle too many things at once.”

“Well that’s just it,” Peter says. “This is like the perfect job, really. I can go to school and make money _and_ be Spider-Man without feeling like the stress of balancing everything is gonna kill me.”

“Taking pictures for the Daily Bugle, though?” Tony says. “That piece of shit tabloid?”

“They pay me more for exclusive pictures than any other publication,” Peter says stubbornly. “I explored my options first.”

“That’s because that asshole editor over there has a fucked-up vendetta against you and is obsessed with tearing you apart,” Tony says, starting to lose patience. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Peter shrugs. “They’d write it anyway. At least this way I’m getting paid while they do it. Plus it’s kinda hilarious, you know, that I’m the one taking the pictures and they have no clue.”

“You’re…you’re _prostituting_ yourself,” Tony says.

“Oh my god,” Peter says, hacking apart his crab cake. “You’re being so dramatic. Also, like, kind of hypocritical but I don’t have time to go on about your relationship with the media or we’ll be here forever. But seriously, it’s just a little gig so I can pay for rent and maybe have some extra spending money.”

“Rent?” Tony says, frowning. He’d come here to talk to the kid about his job and now he’s talking about _rent_. “Your college fund covers housing.”

“Yeah, at the dorms,” Peter says. “But I wanna move into an apartment next semester. I already have a roommate and everything.”

“Who?” Tony asks, alarmed by how quickly all of this is shifting. He hadn’t planned for any of this. It’s all so much more serious than he initially thought.

“Johnny,” Peter replies, still mutilating the sad corpse of his dinner.

“Johnny? _Johnny Storm?_ ” Tony can feel an aneurysm coming on. “That—douchebag moron frat bro who’s living in my tower?”

Peter is looking defensive now. “It’s not _your_ tower. It hasn’t been your tower for years. And he’s not—he’s not a _douchebag_. He can be an arrogant jerk sometimes, yeah, but he’s really a super nice guy. And he isn’t a moron, either.”

“Oh god,” Tony says, gripped with a sudden horror. “Tell me that one article isn’t true—you’re not—you haven’t—because Petey, you—have so many options. Better, more _responsible_ options.”

“What are you even talking about—what article?” Peter says, his face screwed up in confusion. Tony can’t tell if he’s just playing innocent or not, and the kid waves a hand dismissively before Tony can work up the courage to probe further. “Anyway, it’s done. I didn’t apply for dorm housing next year and now they probably won’t have space.”

“Okay,” Tony says, forcing himself to let go of his fork before he bends it in half. “That’s fine. I get it. I wouldn’t want to share a bathroom with thirty other dudes either. You can move into your own place, I’ll continue paying for your living expenses, and you drop this job. Deal?”

“No.”

“No?” Tony says, his frown deepening. 

“No, I’m—I’m super grateful, Mr. Stark, really, but I want to pay my own rent,” Peter says. He’s stumbling a little, but his voice is firm. “I want to, you know, have the lease in my name and everything.”

Tony can’t decide if he’s incredibly proud or if he hates everything about this. He tries to compromise. “Alright. You wanna be your own man—that’s-that’s great, Pete. If you need a job, Pepper can get you a position with SI. I’ll pay you more than this…photography thing.”

“No. No,” Peter says. “That’s not the point.” 

“What is the point?” Tony asks. “To give me an ulcer?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “No. I just…it’s for me, alright? I don’t need you to hand everything to me.”

“I’m not handing you anything, Petey,” Tony protests. “If I give you a job, it’s because you deserve it.”

“You’re not—you don’t get it,” Peter sighs. “I like it. I like taking pictures. It’s fun for me. I like that it’s…my own thing. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tony says. “Okay.” 

It’s not okay.

 

_________________________

 

“May, you have to talk to him,” Tony says, clutching his phone like a lifeline. “He won’t listen to me. You have to stop this.”

“I’m at work,” May replies. “I’m not gonna indulge your nonsense right now.”

“Liar. I can hear Great British Bake Off in the background.”

“Tony, it’s a just a job to get him through college,” May says. Tony can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “He’ll graduate and move on to bigger and better things. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a tabloid,” Tony says, disgusted. “One that regularly maligns him.”

“Spider-Man,” May corrects. “It maligns Spider-Man. It pays Peter Parker.”

“Just talk to him,” Tony pleads. “He wants to move into a place with that reckless hothead Johnny Storm. _Johnny Storm,_ May. Is that the kind of person you want around your kid?”

“Tony, he’s nineteen,” May says, almost gently. “You need to let him make his own decisions, even if you think he’s making a mistake. He’s growing up. You gotta let him grow up eventually.”

“I know that,” Tony sniffs. “But I just think—”

“I know it’s hard to let go like that,” May says. “Especially after everything we’ve been through. You’re always gonna see him as the little kid you need to protect, but you gotta give him some room to spread his wings.”

Tony says nothing, for once. There’s a weird hard lump in his throat that has come out of nowhere and it’s strangling his voice. God, he thinks a little bitterly, you can always count on May Parker to get right to the crux of the matter, even if she has to carve it right out of your chest. 

“Well. I don’t like it,” he manages, not clarifying if he means the job or something else.

“You and me both, sweetheart,” May says, understanding exactly what he refuses to acknowledge.

 

_________________________

 

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this parenting thing.”

Pepper looks at him from where she sits at the table, helping Morgan eat a cup of yogurt. She arches an eyebrow. “It’s a little late for that epiphany, honey.”

“No, I know, I just—” Tony sighs, leaning back in his chair. “It’s hard. I mean, I knew it was gonna be hard, everyone says so, and Christ, the crap I made my parents endure…”

“Is this about Peter?” Pepper asks.

Tony squints at her. “Have you been talking to May?”

“No,” Pepper says, wiping yogurt out of Morgan’s hair. “But you’ve been in one of your weird existential funks ever since you found out Peter got that job.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony says. “That kid makes me feel old and clueless a lot of the time.”

“You are old and clueless,” Pepper replies, trying to coax a growling Morgan to take another bite. 

“Wow, thanks, honey.”

“Sorry, but you sound like you need a little honesty. You’ve never been very good at relinquishing control, Tony,” Pepper says. “But you need to stop thinking so much about every little thing you find bad or think could go wrong. Peter is going to be fine. He’s smart and strong and he has a great support system.”

“I know,” Tony says. He looks at little Morgan and for a moment he can’t breathe, overwhelmed with love and terror, the two equal sides of his heart. It’s the greatest blessing and the worst curse, he thinks, having to watch her grow up. Having to watch Peter grow up, too. He’s helped defeat a Titan and yanked back half the universe from the jaws of obliteration and yet this still feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done.

 

_________________________

 

The pictures continue to appear. They become more elaborate and daring, taken at near-impossible angles or during apparent free-falls. Tony debates saying something to the kid before people start wondering how the hell he’s getting shots like this, but no one seems to suspect little, baby-faced Peter Parker is anything more than an awkward kid from Queens who barely has his life together, so he lets it rest. He has Peter show him the rigs and drones he’s built to capture his Spidey selfies, as he puts it, and of course Tony can’t help but tinker with them a little. They bounce ideas off of each other just like they do in the lab, and Tony finds himself spending more time reading about the inner workings of cameras and less time scrolling through the dregs of social media. 

He still skims the Bugle articles, occasionally working himself into a froth over a particularly awful one while Pepper rolls her eyes, but he also notices that the comments for these articles are overwhelming positive. _Go, Spidey, go!!!_ they read. _My fave hero ever_. Tony could choke on the swell of pride that balloons up out of his chest.

(He tries very hard to ignore the disturbingly large number of lewd comments floating out there in the wasteland—“Thirst tweets,” Peter explains. He apparently finds being objectified hilarious. Tony lies awake sweating at night, wondering if he should redesign the kid’s suit, make something less...form-fitting, but Peter tells him it wouldn’t stop people. When Tony finds “thirst tweets” lustfully exulting the Hulk, he finally accepts it as a lost cause, just another sign of the hopeless degeneracy of humanity.)

Peter comes to visit more often during summer break. They take Morgan out for walks around the compound grounds and Peter gives endless piggyback rides, never tiring, and Tony thinks everything he’s ever done in his life has all culminated in this, getting to watch his little girl and the kid who might as well be his too feeding ducks in a pond in the warm afternoon sunshine. He can’t think of a more worthy cause, a greater reward.

____________________

 

“What’s this?” Peter asks, taking the envelope Tony is holding out to him. They’re sitting in a little cafe, one of their preferred places. The kid is sporting a split lip and a spectacularly black eye received in a recent misadventure, and Tony is trying to ignore the ogling and odd looks the other patrons are casting towards their table. He feels dangerously choked up already and the last thing he needs is for photos to appear all over social media of him pathetically weeping at a table across from a college student with a busted face. Retirement or fatherhood or some combination of the two has totally unhinged him.

“It’s a little housewarming gift,” Tony tells him. “A check to cover your security deposit.”

“Mr. Stark, I really—this is so thoughtful, but I said I wanted to pay for everything myself,” Peter says.

“You said you wanted to pay your rent, which you will,” Tony corrects. “This is a gift to get you started, is all.” He clears his throat and looks down at his hands, because if he looks at the kid he knows he’s not going to be able to hold it together. “I know you don’t need my help, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stop offering it. I care about you too damn much.”

A long silence follows. Tony dares to glance up. The kid is looking at him from across the table, the envelope clutched tight in his hands, his one good eye suspiciously wet, looking completely broken apart and tender.

“Oh, Jesus, Petey, just accept the damn thing and drink your coffee before you kill me,” Tony says, his own eyes starting to burn.

“I—sorry,” Peter says, ducking his head a moment to collect himself. He looks up again, smiling this time. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. For everything.”

Tony sniffs and waves him off. “Sure, kid. Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> I recently resurrected my long dead [tumblr](https://groo-ock.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to swing by and holler.


End file.
